


It's Made With LV

by JellyFicsnFucks



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (mention of feeling high), Alternate Universe - Horrortale (Undertale), Begging, Blood and Gore, Broken Bones, Cannibalism, Choking, Dismemberment, Disturbing Themes, Emetophilia, Eye Trauma, Fainting, Horrortale Papyrus (Undertale), Horrortale Sans (Undertale), Lots of Crying, Mind Break, No Sex, Starvation, Twisted love, brotherly~betrayal, drugging/tranquilizing, graphic blood, non-con, quad amputation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27884113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyFicsnFucks/pseuds/JellyFicsnFucks
Summary: "In the morning, (HorrorTale) Sans wakes to a thick aroma wafting through his nasal cavity; it warms the house with a divine fragrance that he can’t even begin to describe.... Something wonderful is cooking downstairs."WARNING !!!! This fic contains DISTURBING ARTWORK !!! please READ the TAGS!
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13





	It's Made With LV

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO LOVELIES! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡
> 
> This was a Collab project with the wonderful JessofMess[ NSFW 18+ Twitter](https://twitter.com/HowAdult) !!! She drew all the pictures!!! You can find my twitter [ here too! ](https://twitter.com/JellyFicsnFucks)We did this project together for the Lattices and Bones Zine which you can find here[for the FREE comic download](https://lattices-and-cracks.itch.io/fanzine) and [ for the Lattices & Cracks Twitter!! ](https://twitter.com/Lattices_Cracks)

In the morning, Sans wakes to a thick aroma wafting through his nasal cavity; it warms the house with a divine fragrance that he can’t even begin to describe. Something wonderful is cooking downstairs.

His mouth salivates and his stomach grumbles. That long forgotten sensation of hunger is settling back in his bones like an unwelcome resident. He is starving… and that alluring smell gets him out of bed and to his feet in a leap.

He stumbles down the stairway and swings on the railing to redirect himself to the kitchen. Papyrus is crouching over the stove, humming a chaotic and tuneless melody with glee. Sans smirks. He hasn’t seen his little brother so happy in a long time.

“our traps worked?” He wiggles his butt into a dusty chair.

“SANS!” Papyrus screeches. His voice is even scratchier today. Sans flinches at the pitch. “GOOD MORNING! I MADE SOUP.” He places down a steamy bowl in front of Sans. A golden-orange broth bubbles in front of him with fatty, glistening oils. They sit in a thick puddle on top of the broth, tempting Sans with a unique smell.

That sickly sweet and nauseating scent makes his gut twist around his spine, clawing at the inside of his bones. Grumbling with hunger, his soul quivers inside his ribs. The meal is taunting him, but he grits his teeth hard. Hard enough that he can taste actual blood in his mouth. The metallic beads of blood slide down his throat, quenching his urge just a bit. He wants to dive in and eat… but he won’t. He’ll only eat if there’s enough for Pap too.

Sans tilts his chin up, checking if his brother's bowl is full, or if he's playing pretend. Somehow, _miraculously_ , he is not. There is a little surprised trill in the back of his throat when Sans brightens up and realizes with no uncertainty that there is enough food for both of them.

Restraint forgotten, he lifts the soup bowl to his chin and takes his first gulp!

Hot creamy broth courses through his cold throat and he exhales steam. A shudder scurries up his spine as it warms him from the inside out. The metallic taste of his blood is still on his tongue, but Sans couldn't care less. It doesn't tarnish the flavor at all. Every hot steamy sip of the soup is delicious!

“this is amazing, paps!” Sans compliments eagerly. Across the table his brother blossoms with color. His disfigured smile cracks wide with pride. Sans picks up the bowl in both hands, feeling the cold of his fingertips just melt away.

“what’s in it?”

Without skipping a beat, Papyrus lifts up his shirt. Strange, until Sans notices something out of place.

One...? Two...? Three...? He counts the ribs in his head, slow to catch onto what is missing from this particular puzzle. But when he sees it, his one good eye-light blows wide in horror.

“paps...?” Sans chokes. “...what did you do to y-y-your ribs?!” Staring at his little brother's mutilated ribcage he gasps. The stubs are rough, like they’ve been sawed off. The jagged ends are mangled. Splintered and pulled apart like the ends of string cheese.

But at the end of the nubs—jammed into the cracked boundary—the bones have been sloppily reattached. Sans’s jaw drops in disgust as he looks at the shitty patch job Papyrus has managed. Each end of his ribs are shriveled up and sliced down the center in an uneven zigzag. They look as though they’ve been bound with tape and reinforced with glue. It looks painful. Agonizing, even. Would that even heal?

How could he do that to _himself_!? Why would he-?!

And then it clicks. The metallic flavor in his mouth wasn’t _just_ blood. It was the iron of marrow and collagen combined into a thick meaty soup. Sans whips his head down to stare into the soup, then back up to his dear brother.

_It was_ **_bone_ ** _broth._

Oh stars, he was going to be _sick_!

Violently the food comes bursting through his lower jaw, spilling to the floor. Sans clasps a hand in front of his mouth. He clenches his teeth tightly to not lose that precious fuel. His tongue burns from the sour, acidic bile. He shoves his chair away from the table and gets up to run to the bathroom… but he can’t hold it back. He falls to his knees and vomits right there in the kitchen. Heave after heave, the eruptions _squirt_ past his shut teeth until his stomach is painfully empty again.

Everything spins. He’s light-headed, worse than before. Tears spill down his face from gagging so harshly. Behind him, Paps’s boots clack against the kitchen tile. His brother kneels on the ground beside him. There is a soft touch of cold phalanges snaking across his shoulder blades.

“YOU'VE WASTED SO MUCH FOOD. OH NO.” He sounds sad and heartbroken that this precious meal he poured his soul into has ended up on the floor. Sans’s gut twists, knowing where Papyrus’s disappointment comes from and the amount of effort he put into the meal. He’s frustrated with himself that he wasted that precious resource all over the floor. He opens his jaw, about to sincerely apologize, but Papyrus hums.

“I GUESS YOU’LL HAVE TO _LICK IT UP_.”

Surely he’s heard that wrong. “what did you say, pa-?”

A flat, cold palm spreads out over the back of his skull. Sans’s eyes snap open. With a shove, Papyrus pushes him forward until he stumbles and collapses face-first in the pile of vomit.

The smell of his stomach contents is deeply unappetizing, but far worse is that the tips of Papyrus’s fingers inside the crack of his cranium. Intentionally or not, they trace the broken boundary of the skull and his inner mind. It sends a chill through his spine as the old wound flares up and his mind whites out.

“ **_L I C K_ **.” 

Sans’s head is bowed to the floor. His nasal cavity drips with his own puke. He whimpers, eyeing the mess with a tinge of guilt. Papyrus broke himself for this. It’s the only food they’ve had in weeks. And well… he _is_ hungry.

Maybe it would taste just as good the second time. He sticks out his tongue...  
  


“YOU’RE VERY NAUGHTY TO BE WASTING FOOD, BROTHER.” He grabs Sans’s shoulder and slams him into the ground. “NOW I HAVE TO GATHER THE INGREDIENTS AGAIN~” Suddenly Papyrus yanks his arm and twists it from the socket.

“gaaAAAAHH!” Sans screams. White-hot pain radiates through his shoulder blade and pinches the nerves in his neck and spine. In broken and raspy chokes, air escapes from his mouth as he struggles to breathe.

With a clean _-pop-_ the bone bursts out of the socket and dislocates.

The tear is so painful that Sans can't even vocalize a sound. Instead of words, his jaw flops open wide in an O of disbelieving shock. But it’s not over; Papyrus continues pulling, playing tug of war with the lifeless limb until it starts to tear in the center.

Strands of blood and marrow create a gooey web, gumming the joint together as it finally separates. It twists counter-clockwise, grinding into itself on the shattered bone as a wedge to cut deeper.

“IT’S OKAY, SANS~” his brother hums, “DON’T TRY TO FIGHT IT. YOUR BROTHER WILL MAKE IT ALL BETTER…”

Sans wheezes weakly for breath, clawing at the tiles until chips of his own fingertips scrape on the granite. Finally, he hears a horrible crack behind him, akin to the felling of a great oak tree. It’s the sound of ligaments twisting in on themselves, creating a domino effect of shattering bone. Shards fly off in opposite directions and hit him in the back of the head with harsh flicks. With a tink of shattering glass, his health drops. Sans squeezes his eyes closed and begs for this to be over as wet marrow splatters the back of his head.

Why isn't he dusting? His soul shivers and squeezes inside his chest. It pleads with him to run. Whatever fraction of his soul remains screams at him in pure animalistic terror. _He_ **_has_ ** _to get away!_

Reaching deep inside the wells of his magic, Sans has just enough power to snatch up his brother's soul. He turns him blue and yanks him away. Papyrus falls against the sink as gravity shifts for him alone.

But it will only be a matter of time before his magic comes undone. Sans scrambles away, tenderly scooping his wounded arm off the ground. A darkened syrup flows from the lattices and cracks, leaching more and more of his magical life force. He throws off his disheveled sweater and quickly ties the sleeves together and around the injury. He pulls it tight around the thickly oozing break, trying to lessen the blood flow. Then he hastily runs to the door before Papyrus recovers.

Outside the wind is howling. The chill seeps into his skull as ice crystals blow into his eye sockets. He has to fight against the pressure to turn his head and run in the opposite direction. With the wind at his back, every step feels faster and faster, but he’s panting hard. The air is so icy that it hurts to take deep breaths. Yet he pushes himself to keep going. His brother’s lanky legs are longer than Sans is tall. So every step he strides is two steps for Sans. He’ll catch up in no time flat, removing any hope of getting away.

“SAAANS?!” Papyrus’s yell is all too close for comfort. He isn’t out of breath either. “COME BACK TO ME, SANS! I CAN HELP SNAP IT BACK IN!” Papyrus merely has to ‘chase’ him down by following the bloody rose petals eaten into the snow. The dark of night makes the blotched trail even easier to see.

“I’LL MAKE IT A CLEANER CUT NEXT TIME~”

Sans shivers… and not just because it’s cold. It’s only taken Papyrus a matter of minutes to catch up to him and now he is so close. Running now will only alert him to his location, so Sans carefully sidles over the exposed roots of a nearby tree. He snakes back to the trunk of the monolith so he could hide among the black oaken darkness, where hopefully, the blood trail will blend in with the leaves.

He normally wears his hoodie when he’s hunting in these woods, so it doesn't occur to him that a white skull is the worst camouflage out here until it's too late. It shows beautifully against the canvas of a dark oak tree.

“THERE YOU ARE, BROTHER~” Papyrus sings. Sans’s soul leaps to his throat when he hears that. And then his soul literally leaps out in front of him. Blue.

He can’t move.

He can’t move. 

He **can’t move!**

**_He can’t move!!!_ **

His limbs tremble and tink against each other like wind chimes. He can’t make out Papyrus from here... but he sees the orange burnt sienna color of his eye light blazing in the dark. It's terrifying now that it's on him. Watching. Calculating. And when it flicks over to the left, something catches his eye.

Sans glances over too. Well… as much as he can, while being frozen in place. He can’t even move his neck, but he knows all too well the layout of this forest. One of his traps is nearby.

Papyrus smirks, idly waving his hand over to the trap. Slowly, Sans’s soul is dragged in that direction as gravity shifts once more.

“no, no, **no, no!”** he panics. A lump comes up his throat.

“I CAUGHT A BIG ONE, BROTHER.” Papyrus giggles. Against his will, Sans is dropped down on top of the contraption. Immediately a loop of rope whips taut around his ankle.

_Shit-_! He’s pulled up into the treeline, smacking against branches and sleeping bats. He flounders against the tug of the rope, dropping his arm but doing the best he could to evade part two of the trap. But then the slingshot throws out dozens of spiny needles into the trees. Even if it had been broad daylight out, he couldn’t block them all. He feels the tiny sting of a needle against his leg, at the side of his neck, and in the crevice between his skull and spine.

Everything blurs... The rocking of the rope trap becomes a soothing call to sleep, accompanied by Papyrus’s satisfied hums.

“AREN'T YOU PROUD OF ME?”

~~~

Waking up is a painful and groggy experience. His head is already pounding with an intolerable ache; it makes the numb feeling of unconsciousness a welcome treat in comparison.

Sensation and pain comes back to him as his mind wakes. And he realizes with horror that both his arms are detached. It is a poor hack job. Ligaments of marrow are still holding it together like a doll with strings, but the nerves are completely severed. It looks worse under the bright light of their home.

Oh, stars… he had been dragged back _home_. A gravelly cry escapes his throat as he turns to his side and coughs up blood. It alerts the predator in the room that he is awake.

Papyrus’s heavy boots creak on the old floorboards as he creeps his way over to him. “GOOD! YOU'RE FINALLY AWAKE, BROTHER. WHY DID YOU RUN FROM ME? IT WAS AWFULLY RUDE OF YOU.”

Flitting through his mind are horrible memories and an ache in the broken dome of his skull. He trembles as lanky limbs cage him in, and Papyrus’s dominating size blocks out the ceiling lights.

“y-y-you were going to e-eat me?” The brim of Sans’s eye sockets fills with tears. Conflicting emotions leave him paralyzed. He’s filled with terror, deep, deep love for his brother, and a terrible, aching sadness that his own incompetence has driven them to this... _cannibalism_.

Papyrus's face twists even more as he considers such a horrible thing. But then he turns to his big brother and smiles widely.

“AWW, SANS... YOU’RE SO WRONG,” he hums. “I’M NOT TRYING TO _HURT_ YOU. I’M TRYING TO _HELP_ YOU!”

That couldn't be true. Sans whimpers, as he’s forced to sit in Papyrus’s lap. Pitiful sobs run down his cheeks and he can't even raise his stubby arms to wipe them away. Papyrus cradles him and wipes away his tears.

With his tongue.

The slimy tendril enters his mouth and sloppily coils inside his skull. Lapping away at the blood inside his mouth and pushing deep into his braincase. Inside his skull, there is a cacophony of magic that forms his eyelights and sends signals of movement instructions to his extremities. But when a wet tongue laps at those synapses, Sans’s body goes limp.

It’s like his whole body stops functioning. He can’t move. He can’t even _breathe_. Paralysis ebbs at his soul and tightens around his throat. It feels as though a constrictor is slithering its way around his spine. Every second it threatens to choke him, getting tighter and tighter, squeezing the life out of him until all he can hear is the loud pulse of his soul.

Less than a doll, he just lies there while Papyrus laps at the inside of his skull. Cleaning him with the thorough attention of a mother cat. The invasive feeling is wrong. He can’t even gurgle his discomfort when a thoroughly satisfied Pap finally releases him.

“OOPS, I GOT CARRIED AWAY,” his brother admits sheepishly. “IT'S JUST... I NEVER KNEW YOU COULD TASTE SO GOOD, BROTHER. I MEAN... I KNEW... I JUST… TRIED NOT TO THINK ABOUT IT.”

Sans shakes as he recovers from the mind numbing tongueing. His eyelights flutter in place with a painful throb.

“BUT NOW… I CAN’T GET IT OUT OF MY HEAD.” Papyrus grins. “ALL THIS TIME WE WERE TRYING TO FIND FOOD… BUT THERE WAS FOOD RIGHT HERE. INSIDE US.” He traces the outline of Sans’s sternum. Rubs his phalanges over it like a prized pig. Admires him.

“I PROMISED YOU I’D DO IT CLEANER.” He extends his crooked back and spreads his reach up for the counter, helping himself stand up to explore the kitchen. Sans jerks involuntarily on the floor, unable to move still… even as he watches his brother return with a large dusty cleaver.

He draws the knife up to his face, examining it. The glint of steel reflects back the terrified form of his older brother.

“I WANNA SHOW YOU, SANS,” he whispers. “THE FLOWER TOLD ME HOW. I’LL JUST HAVE TO BREAK _ALL_ YOUR BONES. AND THEN PUT YOU BACK TOGETHER.”

“wha-!!” Sans squeezes his eyes tight. This has to be a dream. _This has to be a dream!_ It isn't really his sweet innocent Paps. This is something **_sick_ ** and **twisted**. Yet the monster raises the blade and with a clean slice severs his tendons. Sans can’t even utter a scream.

The small ligaments that hold his arm together are just as sensitive as raw nerve endings. The slice sends a jolt of shock through his arm, making his fingers twitch brokenly. And strangely enough… there is some satisfaction in finally being free from the hanging stringy veins. A release.

Papyrus proudly holds the arm in front of him, showing it off to Sans like it is a thing of beauty.

“IT’S EASIER WHEN YOU DON'T FIGHT BACK. SEE?”

Sans whines softly, his eyes transfixed on what Papyrus is doing. The knife slides through his arm vertically, opening it up as easily as a stalk of celery. It parts the bone in two long canals that Pap drags his gloved finger through and licks up with delight.

“DELICIOUS. SEE BROTHER? SEE?” His sticky fingers claw out the inner marrow and shove it inside Sans’s mouth. It mixes with his saliva, forcing Sans to taste the life-giving marrow inside him.

It is raw… but fresh. The taste, the flavor of metal and runny pulpy egg yolk, makes him salivate. With curious horror, he tastes himself. Eye lights blow wide in overwhelmed surprise.

He tastes _good_.

Papyrus hums happily, grabbing cooking tools with a renewed love for cooking. Empty pots, jars, spoons, and knives plop on the floor of his new workspace. The kitchen counters don’t offer the same space for excavating a live victim.

Sans is dragged into his lap. Happily, Papyrus holds the two things he loves most in his arms. His brother and food. Sans is trapped as his brother crouches against his back. With nowhere to escape, he watches numbly as his broken limb is balanced over Papyrus’s knee. In one hand, Papyrus holds it down; in the other, he drags a spoon through the crevice.

An ear-piercing scream erupts from Sans’s mouth, but his brother sings, his voice drowning out his pitiful screams. The melody is accompanied by the scraping sound of the spoon scooping up the soft marrow. The grating metal scratches through every crevice. It itches as the marrow is stripped from the canals. Sans’s voice goes hoarse as his body is violated from the inside out.

Soon only Papyrus’s singing remains with Sans’s bones becoming an accompanying musical instrument. The hollow echoing sound is enough to send a chill down his spine.

A jar fills with his essence.

Again and again, the spoon carves out the inside of his bones, until the marrow is gone. Then the bone is dropped inside the pot, and Papyrus moves onto the next. He clips the next limb from Sans’s body as though he is nothing but a fruit tree.

Sans weakly gurgles out words. “ _hrrrk-_ stop…” he begs, but his voice can barely go above a whisper. He wonders if Papyrus can even hear him.

“...please stop, paps...” he cries, but Papyrus only hums louder.

When the next bone is scraped clean, he moves onto Sans’s ribs.

Sans shudders violently in his brother's arms.

He chokes on his own spittle.

He blacks out and wakes to the horrible scratching inside his bones.

Again and _again_...

It tears him up from the inside out.

Without a breath to take, his eye rolls up into the back of his head. His body jerks uncontrollably. He bites down his tongue, enduring it. Waiting for this torture to end. Waiting for some reset to let him wake up in his bedroom again. But despite the pain wracking his body, it’s not enough to kill him. The world flashes white and rings out like a gong inside his skull. A thundering quake echoes through his body, as his soul’s heartbeat ominously decays.

**_Ba-dump. Ba-dump._ **

Unconsciously he takes a breath only to suck on the warm metallic taste of his blood, clogging up his throat and choking him. His blood bubbles up through his throat, filling his nasal cavity and suffocating him as it begins to coagulate. His chest collapses inward, drawing every ounce of air from his body.

He tries, futilely, one last time to push himself away from Papyrus, only for his ulna to snap like chalk and flies off to the corner of the kitchen where it hits the wall and fractures into pieces. His little brother’s weight pins him in close. His crushing embrace holds Sans still even as he thrashes. Singing louder, he excavates what's left of each arm, snapping them off once his job is done. Blood splashes thickly around him.

Is this how he’s going to die?

His single eyelight rolls into the back of his head. Each breath leaves him suckling on the warm metallic taste of his own blood.

“stars, pap! stop! just stop! just let me die already!” he tries to shout, but he chokes on the words and they come out as garbled nonsense. Over his teeth, blood spills out from his useless flapping tongue.

And in the middle of it—all the pain from having his bones stripped while he is awake, the pain from gurgling on his very breath, the pain of suffocating on his blood, the pain from breaking his arm and ribcage _—_ there is a spark of pleasure. **Relief**.

Sans reaches for it. This new high.

Blocking out the pain leaves only this warped sense of pleasure in his mind. A crooked smile creeps over Sans’s face. How long has Papyrus been doing this to him? Minutes? Hours? Does it matter? All of time feels frozen.

Breaking bones. Scraping out the marrow. Swathing him in a warm embrace. And the whole time, Sans feels the connection of his limbs even though they are disconnected from him. It is an itch he can’t scratch. A clawing sensation inside of his mind.

It is only a matter of time before everything… snaps.

~~~

Sans can’t be sure what time it is when his demented brother finally releases him. He’s just been staring at the ceiling light bulb for so long it had started to burn a hole through his eyelights.

He feels cold. Everything feels cold… despite the warm, cooling, blood surrounding him.

One by one, his arms, his legs, his fingers, his toes, his ribs… his appendages have been scraped from him. Now they are boiling on the stovetop with an erotic aroma, making Sans salivate in perverse need.

Fuck, he smells good. Delicious.

Sans’s tongue spills out from his mouth, desperate for that taste of marrow, mind broken and barely holding on.

By the time Papyrus finishes the job, Sans is nothing more than a skull attached to broken ribs and a semi bruised spinal column. Strange that he doesn’t feel pain anymore… nor a magical attachment to his limbs. Everything feels… mercifully… light.

Tears stream from his eye sockets as he raspily begs Papyrus for more. After the soup boils, Papyrus plans to patch Sans together, let him heal, and do this again next month.

Papyrus hunches over the wormy-like skeleton, whispering praises to his big brother, promising they’ll never go hungry again.

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING!!! ♡ (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) 
> 
> This was a Collab project with the wonderful JessofMess[ NSFW 18+ Twitter](https://twitter.com/HowAdult) !!! You can find my twitter [ here too! ](https://twitter.com/JellyFicsnFucks)We did this project together for the Lattices and Bones Zine which you can find here[for the FREE comic download](https://lattices-and-cracks.itch.io/fanzine) and [ for the Lattices & Cracks Twitter!! ](https://twitter.com/Lattices_Cracks)


End file.
